The Returning (34 page)

Andrea’s lips trembled, but she didn’t speak. John looked at her until footfalls on the stairs pulled his eyes past her shoulder. Then Billy’s head appeared beyond the railings of the banister. “Mom, Dad, what’s going on?”

“Get dressed, Billy,” John said. “We’re going out in the motorboat.”

“We are? Right now?”

John nodded tersely.

“But, Dad, you can’t be on the water after dark.”

John ignored him. He lifted the phone to his ear. “Beka, honey, you there? Okay, listen, wait in the car for about five minutes, then go on down to the shore and start waving the flashlight. I’m going to hang up this phone now, but we’ll call you back on Billy’s phone, all right? We’ll stay on the line with you until we get there. Okay, honey . . . don’t be afraid. We’ll call you right back, and we’ll be there in just a few minutes. I’m going to hang up now, but Billy will call you right back. . . . Yes, it’s all right. Don’t cry. Hang up so Billy can call you on his cell. Bye, honey.”

He pressed the off button on the phone. “All right, Billy,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Andrea opened the door between the kitchen and the bedroom just far enough to peek in and check on Phoebe. Still sleeping. She quietly withdrew and shut the door.

She moved across the kitchen to the refrigerator, stepping softly on the cheap foam of the beach sandals she wore as summer slippers. The flashlight she was looking for clung to the side of the refrigerator by a magnet. She peeled it off and pushed the rubber-coated button that turned on the bulb. The beam settled on the face of the clock above the stove. 12:25
A.M.
For a moment her feet refused to move as she considered what they were doing, the danger of it, and the stupidity. Why didn’t they just call Owen? He could run over and get Beka and be back in his own bed in half an hour. But no, John had to play the hero, and he had to take Billy with him.

Andrea shut her eyes, clenched her teeth.
Dear God
, she thought,
if you’ve never done anything for me before, please do something for me now.

“Andrea, did you find the flashlight?” John asked, calling softly from the front room.

She opened her eyes. She flashed the beam toward him as her reply. John and Billy, both in shorts, T-shirts, and their work Reeboks, stood illumined in the circle of light.

“Okay,” John said. “Let’s get moving.”

Outside, a wave of cool air washed over them as they walked across the yard and down the steps to the dock. John spoke quietly into Billy’s phone, assuring Beka they were coming. Billy eased himself down into the boat and took his position by the motor. John followed, settling in the front of the boat.

“We’ll be there in just a few minutes,” John said into the phone.

Andrea felt an increase in the wind, felt the hem of her cotton robe dance about her legs like an open tent flap. Overhead, the moon disappeared behind a cloud, then reappeared. A thousand stars winked at her through a thin veil of scattered clouds.

“There’s Beka,” Billy said, pointing toward the Castle. The whole lake was rimmed with lights—porch lights, streetlamps, the occasional cottage window. But directly across the lake was a wide expanse of darkness in which one small light moved rhythmically back and forth along the shore.

“We see you, honey,” John told Rebekah. “We’re in the boat now. We’re on our way.”

John looked up at Andrea. “You do the same on this side, Andrea. Just wave the flashlight till we get back. Got it?”

Andrea nodded. She tried to swallow her fear, but it stuck like a bitter pill at the back of her throat.

“Start that motor, Billy,” John said.

Billy nodded importantly, turned toward the motor, and pulled the cord. Nothing happened. He tried again.

Nothing.

“All right, Billy,” John said. “Don’t pull too hard. Just a good swift jerk should do it.”

“I’m trying, Dad.”

“I know you are, son.”

Billy stood over the motor, breathed in, pulled the cord. In the silence that followed he said, “Remember, I told you. It doesn’t always start right away.”

“Do you want me to give it a try?”

“No, Dad. I know what I’m doing. I know this motor, and you don’t.”

“Okay. Give it another pull when you’re ready.”

Andrea tried to keep quiet. She looked across the lake at the one small pendulum of light swinging on the shore. Her daughter, alone in the dark, waiting for rescue by a couple of knights in shining armor who couldn’t get their horse saddled and running.

“John—”

“Just a minute, Andrea. Okay, Billy, give it a sec, then try again.”

“John, I really think . . .”

But he wasn’t listening.

A minute passed, then two, as Billy pulled the cord again and again. Finally John slapped the rim of the boat with an open hand. “It’s not going to start!” he yelled. “Doesn’t anything work around here?”

“I’ll keep trying, Dad!”

John stood up, steadied himself as the boat rocked slowly from side to side. “It’s no use. It’s not going to start.”

Andrea saw her chance. “I’ll go call Owen.”

“Nobody’s calling Owen,” John shot back. He climbed out of the motorboat onto the dock. “Beka is my daughter, and I’m going to get her.”

“But, John—”

He pushed past her and leapt into the rowboat tied up on the other side of the dock.

“What are you doing?” Andrea asked.

“Getting my daughter.”

“You can’t—”

She didn’t finish. She watched helplessly as John untied the rope anchoring the boat to the dock. She turned back to the motorboat, where Billy continued pulling the cord. At the sight of him, a memory flashed through her mind: Billy the ten-year-old child, up half the night, alternately attempting to tie his shoes and pounding the floor with his fists. No matter how she coaxed and finally begged, she couldn’t persuade him to give up and try again in the morning. It was after one o’clock when, with his shoes still on his feet, he fell exhausted into bed. But the shoes were tied.

“Billy!” she cried. “Hand me one of those life jackets.” She waited, hand extended. He didn’t turn from the motor. “Billy, give me a life jacket now!”

John had settled onto the middle bench of the rowboat and was slipping the oars into the locks.

“Billy!”

Billy froze as though her voice had finally cut through his concentration. He turned a scowling face at her, picked up a life jacket from the floor of the boat, and tossed it at her.

She caught it, turned, and passed it off to John. “Here,” she pleaded, “put this on.”

He reached for it, slid it around his neck, left it untied. “I’ll be back in twenty,” he said.

Andrea watched as the oars sliced the surface of the lake. The paddles momentarily disappeared, then shot up again like harried wings. The beads of water rolling down the paddle edges flashed like shiny gems in the beam of her flashlight.

Just as John passed the end of the dock, Andrea thought she felt a drop of rain.

“Hello?” Rebekah whispered into the phone. “Where are you guys?”

She sat crouched on her haunches by the shore of the lake, instinctively trying to make herself small. She looked behind her, first to the right, then to the left. She was afraid someone would stumble out of the Castle and find her. She didn’t want to be found. She just wanted to go home.

She shivered in the cool air. “Dad?” she called, a little louder now. “Billy? Will somebody please answer me?”

She pressed the phone against her ear, listening intently. Her mother’s voice reached her, sounding far away, calling Billy’s name.

“Mom?” She pressed her lips together to stop them from trembling as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?”

No one answered. Rebekah looked over her shoulder again. She shifted her position on the pebbled shore. Her legs had begun to ache. She realized she had stopped swinging the flashlight. Sighing, she started again.

“Mom? Dad? Billy?”

No one answered.

Billy’s fist met the motor with a deep thud. “Come on, you stupid thing!” he cried, his voice high-pitched with frustration.

“Billy, never mind. Dad’s already headed out in the rowboat.”

“But, Mom . . .” Billy squeezed his small eyes shut and clenched both fists at his sides.

“It’s all right, Billy. Really. You tried really hard. But there’s something wrong with the motor, and it’s just not going to start.”

Billy’s doughy fist slammed once more against the top of the motor.

Andrea looked out over the lake, saw the small light waving on the other side. “Listen, Billy,” she said. “I know you want to help, and there’s something you can do. We need to wave the flashlight the way Beka’s doing. That will help Dad find his way home once he’s got Beka. Come on. You can wave the flashlight.”

Billy looked up at her then with eyes that glistened in the peripheral glow of the flashlight.

Andrea pretended she didn’t see the tears. She held out a hand to her son. “Come on, Billy. It’s important that you wave the light.”

He would need a few minutes to concede defeat. Andrea waited.

John figured he was halfway across the lake now, right in the middle of the dark water, sandwiched between the two swinging lights. He willed himself not to think of the murky depths below, the black depths that had so frightened him as a boy.
Just keep rowing
, he told himself.
Concentrate on reaching Beka.